In a quiet Bohemian village, surrounded by rolling hills and deep, snowbound forests, there lived a poor young girl who had lost both her parents. Orphaned and alone, she was taken in by her stepmother, a cold-hearted woman with a daughter of her own. From the moment the girl entered their home, she was treated as nothing more than a servant.
Every dawn, before the rooster crowed, she was ordered to fetch water from the frozen well, split wood for the fire, and scrub the floors until her hands were raw. Her stepsister, meanwhile, idled beside the hearth, combing her hair and demanding that the orphan serve her. Despite their cruelty, the girl bore her hardships in silence. She never complained, never raised her voice, and never ceased to be kind.
Winter that year was especially fierce. Snow buried the village roofs, and icy winds howled through the trees. One morning, as frost glazed the windows, the stepmother and her daughter conceived a wicked plan.
“Go into the forest and bring us violets,” the stepmother commanded with a cruel smile.
The orphan looked up in disbelief. “Violets? But, Stepmother, it is the middle of winter. Nothing grows beneath this snow.”
“Don’t argue!” snapped the woman. “You heard what I said. If you don’t return with a basket full of violets, don’t bother coming home!”
Trembling, the girl wrapped herself in her thin shawl and stepped out into the bitter cold. The snow reached her knees as she trudged through the forest, each step heavier than the last. The wind cut at her cheeks, and tears froze on her lashes. Still, she pressed on, whispering prayers to the trees that surrounded her.
After hours of wandering, she saw a faint glow between the pines—a circle of light that seemed to breathe warmth. As she drew closer, she saw twelve tall men seated around a great fire. Their faces were calm and wise, their garments woven of mist, frost, flowers, and sunlight. The eldest, a white-bearded man crowned with ice crystals, held a great staff in his hand.
The girl hesitated, unsure if she should approach. But her feet were numb, and the fire’s warmth was irresistible. Bowing low, she said softly, “Good evening, kind sirs. May I warm myself by your fire? I have been sent to gather violets, though the earth is frozen hard.”
The white-bearded elder regarded her gently. “Come closer, child,” he said. “Tell us your name.”
“I have none worth speaking, sir,” she replied humbly. “My stepmother calls me only ‘girl.’”
At this, the eldest—Grandfather January, lifted his staff and spoke to the others. “Brothers, what say you? It is my season now, but the child seeks flowers of spring. Shall we grant her wish?”
A young man draped in green leaves, March, rose to his feet. “My turn shall come,” he said with a smile. “Let it be spring for a while.”
Grandfather January nodded and struck the ground with his staff. In an instant, the wind softened, the snow melted, and the forest floor burst into color. Tender grass swayed, birds began to sing, and violets carpeted the earth as far as the eye could see.
The girl gasped in wonder. She knelt and filled her basket until it overflowed with purple blossoms. Then she curtsied deeply. “Thank you, kind sirs,” she whispered. “May blessings be upon you all.”
She hurried home, her basket fragrant with spring. Her stepmother and stepsister were astonished. “Where did you find these?” they demanded.
“In the forest,” the girl replied simply.
The next day, greed gnawed at them. The stepmother thrust another basket into the girl’s hands. “Go again,” she ordered. “This time, bring us strawberries!”
“But there are no strawberries in winter!” the girl cried.
“Do as I say!” shouted the woman, shoving her toward the door.
Once more, the girl wandered into the snow. Again, she found the circle of twelve men.
“Grandfather January,” she said, bowing low, “my stepmother has sent me for strawberries.”
The elder looked to his brother. “Brother June, it is your time.”
The man in a wreath of wild roses stood, smiling. “Let it be summer,” he said.
Again, the seasons turned. The forest shimmered with sunlight, and red berries glistened beneath the leaves. The girl filled her basket and thanked the brothers with tears of gratitude.
When she returned home, the greedy women tore the basket from her hands. “Tomorrow,” said the stepmother, “you will bring us apples.”
But this time, the stepmother and her daughter decided to follow her in secret. Hidden among the trees, they watched the girl disappear into the forest. Before long, she vanished into the circle of the twelve months. Burning with jealousy, the stepmother rushed forward.
“Make us warm, you lazy spirits!” she shouted at the twelve men. “Give us apples at once!”
The circle fell silent. Grandfather January rose, his eyes cold as ice. “You demand what you have not earned,” he said. He struck the ground with his staff.
The wind howled; snow swirled like a blizzard. The fire vanished. The stepmother and her daughter cried out, but no one heard. When the storm cleared, they were gone—buried beneath the snow.
When spring returned, the kind girl was alone, but free. The villagers, moved by her gentleness, welcomed her into their homes. In time, she built a new life, filled with warmth, peace, and gratitude.
Moral Lesson
True kindness never goes unrewarded. Those who respect nature and act with humility receive its blessings, while greed and cruelty bring only ruin.
Knowledge Check
1. Who were the Twelve Men the girl met in the forest?
They were the personifications of the twelve months of the year, each ruling over their own season.
2. What did Grandfather January symbolize?
He represented wisdom, authority, and the deep power of winter.
3. Why did the girl seek violets, strawberries, and apples?
Her cruel stepmother sent her on impossible tasks to harm her, testing her endurance and obedience.
4. What lesson did the stepmother and stepsister learn too late?
That greed and arrogance can never command the forces of nature.
5. How does this tale reflect Czech culture?
It celebrates respect for nature’s cycles, humility before natural forces, and moral justice, key themes in Czech and Slavic folklore.
6. What is the central moral of The Twelve Months?
Gratitude and goodness bring blessings; envy and greed lead to destruction.
Source: Adapted from Czechoslovak Fairy Tales by Parker Fillmore (1919); originally from Karel Jaromír Erben’s Národní pohádky.
Cultural Origin: Czech Republic (Bohemia)
